


a fleeting moment on an ark

by BloodyMary



Series: Forbears of what will be [8]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Dawn of the Jedi (Comics)
Genre: Philosophy, early jedi philosphy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyMary/pseuds/BloodyMary
Summary: Garon Jard is getting used to the life on Tython and starting to have ideas. Meanwhile, Shae Koda makes some new friends.
Series: Forbears of what will be [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/637034
Kudos: 4





	1. Where Life on Tython Takes Some Getting Used To

The room was airy, with cream-coloured walls and furniture made of pale golden wood. It was minimalistically furnished—one wall was dominated by unadorned bookshelves, while the others had been left bare. A table with cushions stood close to the window. Garon had not had many opportunities to visit living spaces that were not quarters on a space ship, but he saw how different it was from both what a rakata might choose and from what he’d seen in Stav Kesh.

“Sit down,” Rajivari said.

Garon found the man difficult to read. In the Force, he was like a stone in a pool. Cold, calm and unmoved by everything around him.

“I’d rather sit facing the door, if you don’t mind,” Garon replied.

Rajivari nodded and walked around the table, so that they could switch places. Once Garon was seated, he asked, “Tea?”

Which would have been somewhat less odd, if it hadn’t been the only choice of drink. Nevertheless, Garon let him pour the tea into a white cup. It was as a dainty thing, with some sort of pale green floral decoration. The tea was dark brown and smelled of spices.

“You’re much older than my previous students, so I believe I will have to adjust somewhat,” Rajivari said after taking a sip. “Do you have any expectations from me?”

Garon had given this question some thought, but he still didn’t answer right away. He turned the cup in his hands a few times, considering what he was about to say.

“I know that what I’ve learned from the rakata is wrong,” he said eventually. “But knowing that something is wrong doesn’t automatically mean you know what would be right. I want to learn that—or learn how to find out.”

Rajivari’s lips quirked upwards into a small smile, and for a moment, Garon sensed satisfaction from him.

“Not one for small goals, are you?” the older man asked. “Good. I like ambitious students.”

“Other than that, I don’t really know what I should expect,” Garon said. “Philosophy is not exactly the kind of subject Force Hounds get taught.”

Rajivari leaned on his hand, his expression thoughtful. “That implies that rakata have some philosophical traditions you are aware of.”

“It’s hard not to be aware of it, if it’s everywhere,” Garon replied. “I wasn't taught the details or the in-depth reasoning behind it, but I can piece something together from what I’ve heard or read, or watched.”

Rajivari took another sip of his tea, before putting the cup down. “I think this might be a good place to start, then. We can discuss what you know and see if this kind of learning suits you.”

* * *

Garon Jard sat silently, scratching the stubble on his cheek—or perhaps the horizontal part of the scar that had replaced his tattoo. His brown eyes were focused somewhere behind Rajivari—likely a book—though he was quite certain the other man wasn’t really seeing it. Eventually, he focused back on Rajivari, apparently having made up his mind on what he was about to say.

“You likely figured out some of it already and heard other parts,” he said. “But in essence, the idea is that each and every individual should strive to be the strongest and most powerful they can be. To do this, you need to focus on your own goals—if you stop to help others, they will use you and weaken you.”

“And why do you think this is incorrect?” Rajivari asked. He was quite curious to hear the answer—it’d tell him a lot about Garon, he imagined.

“Because you cannot create an an empire where no one works together,” Garon replied matter-of-factly. “All you achieve by following that kind of philosophy is that people will feel used and resentful of the fact that they need to live with others.”

“And that in turn means that they are less likely to organize themselves against their oppressors, doesn’t it?” Rajivari commented. 

“Yes, because they can’t trust their peers not to backstab them,” Garon replied.

“And what are your thoughts on how a society ought to function better, then?” Rajivari asked.

Garon hesitated. He ran his hand through his hair, as he thought. “I don’t know.” When it became clear that Rajivari was still waiting for a different answer, he continued, “I suppose you should aim for a society that doesn’t view helping and cooperation as liabilities. Or even make them values to be strived for, so that you don’t have to force people to work together, but rather that they want to do it on their own.”

“You didn’t mention strength or power at all,” Rajivari observed. It was an interesting thing for the man to omit, given he had grown up in a society that had a very strong, if unhealthy, relationship with both concepts.

“Because what the rakata define as strength is whatever you are not at a given moment,” Garon replied. “And if that’s the case, then it has no meaning at all. As for power… I guess you ought to keep it away from people who have interest in causing conflict.”

Rajivari took a sip of his tea, as he considered his answer. “That implies you believe conflict is harmful for a society—why?”

“I’m going to sound like a rakata now, but it’s because of resources—you need to build weapons, train soldiers and get them to where they will be fighting,” Garon answered after a moment. “Which means the resources that went into all of this can’t be used for something like taking care of the sick.”

Rajivari nodded. This was a rational argument, he thought, which spoke well of the man.

“And if someone were to say that conflict makes us stronger, what would you tell them?” he asked.

“I’d say that’s debatable, and it makes us miserable, and in case of wars can kill us,” Garon replied dryly.

“How is it debatable?” Rajivari asked, as he leaned forward.

“Well, for one, if you mean physical strength, you can achieve better results training in a controlled environment,” Garon replied. “If you mean something more spiritual—I think you may be confusing miserable with strong.”

“Are we not arguing now?” Rajivari asked, as he poured himself some more tea. He put the pot down. “Conflict does not have to a thing of heated emotion. A discussion between two points of view can also be one, but those involved in it can stay calm—and if they listen to the arguments of the other side, they may learn something new. They may reflect and grow—become stronger.”

* * *

Of all the things Shartoaa had expected to find uncomfortable, sleeping arrangements had not been on the list. Somehow, sleeping above the floor, instead of in a hollow in the floor, seemed completely unnatural and unsafe. And yet, the fact that he had made the perfectly rational choice of sleeping under the bed had been met with a number of questions.

Mostly if the mattress he was given was too soft.

Apparently, most land-dwelling species in the Tythos system actually liked sleeping elevated and mostly exposed.

“What if someone decides to murder you, while you’re sleeping?” he asked, quite reasonably.

The large human woman with red hair and tan skin looked at him as if he had grown a second head. She had introduced herself as Noortje, and was apparently going to teach him their ways of the Force. “If they think they can murder me in my sleep, I don’t think they will be deterred by the fact that I’m sleeping in a hole.”

Which sounded quite reasonable, he supposed. A mere hollow was very poor protection, but it still just seemed safer than being exposed and clearly visible.

“You’re strange creatures,” he commented. “You’re so reckless, and yet you thrive on a planet full of dangers.”

“I’d hardly define sleeping in a bed in a Temple as reckless,” Noortje answered. She brushed a strand of hair that had slipped out of her braid behind her ear. “Now, invading planets and starting wars—that is reckless..”

“In the short run, perhaps,” Shartoaa replied. He knew the argument, of course. It had been something all officers and nobles needed to understand. “But in the long run, every conquest we make is one less system that could oppose us. It’s the only way to be safe.”

Noortje looked at him, her eyes widening. Shartoaa wasn’t sure what the reaction meant—human features were too different from rakatan for him to make a guess.

“Has it occurred to you that you might befriend them?” she replied after a moment.

“Why would we attempt something that might not work, if conquest has worked so far?” he answered, confused.

“It clearly didn’t work here,” she pointed out. Which was a fair point, so Shartoaa tried to think of a good reason. He was already doomed and a failure as an officer, so admitting that the Infinite Empire might get defeated again didn’t seem as horrible as it should.

“I suppose because we have more resources for conquering things than for making friends,” he replied after a moment. “I mean… I suppose we could gift ships or slaves, but that would be giving weapons to a possible enemy…”

Noortje watched him in silence for a while. “Yes. I suppose it would be. It could be also a sign of trust.”

And she had claimed her species not to be reckless...

* * *

It had been the first time in years that Master Rajivari would be holding a lecture. Cala had heard that he’d taken another new student—and again one from the Infnite Empire. Curiosity over the rumor was not the main reason Cala had gone to listen to Master Rajivari, of course, but she was going to admit it had played a part.

She’d entered the lecture hall with several others. The ages varied, though she noticed that most of the listeners were on the young side—some of them would have just started their apprenticeship. The hall was by no means full yet, but the front rows were already occupied. Some seats in the back had been taken too—Cala spotted a young couple holding hands, and one of the few older listeners—a human man with a lined face, the left side marred by a large scar.

“Is this place free?” Cala asked, indicating the spot next to the man.

“Yes,” he answered, as he stood up, so she could walk past him and sit down. “I didn’t expect there to be this many people here.”

“Really?” Cala asked, surprised. “Were Master Rajivari’s lectures not very popular earlier?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the man answered. “This is the first time I’m attending.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I assumed you were from here,” Cala answered. “But I suppose the subject is also interesting for people from other Temples.”

“I’m not from anywhere here,” the man said. He smiled at her, in a way that Cala thought meant to indicate he wasn’t insulted. Which seemed odd to her, until he added, “I’m his new student—I used to be a Force Hound.”

He didn’t look like it at all, Cala thought. She wasn’t sure what exactly she had imagined him to look like, but it hadn’t involved gentle brown eyes and a warm voice.

“I’m sorry—I’ve been rude,” she said. “My name is Cala Brin. I study here.”

“I’m Garon Jard,” the man answered. “What do you study?”

“Philosophy of law,” Cala replied. She’d have gone deeper into the subject, but Master Rajivari had entered the hall. “We can talk later?”

“Of course,” Garon answered, and they both turned towards the speaker’s podium.

* * *

Vev had not expected that learning in Bodhi would require textbook knowledge. Dancing, for example, was just showy moving with music, or so she thought earlier. It turned out to be so much more complicated than that. The moves had names—sort of like with fighting, actually. The types of music had names—which Vev thought was probably like different styles of combat.

“You keep bringing your lightsaber everywhere,” one of the other students—a muscular zabrak woman with skin as dark as Tendaji’s—pointed out.

“Yeah,” Vev replied. “I’ve always had it with me since I was… um… for a long time, so I feel naked without it. Which is really weird, because I know I’m not naked.”

The woman giggled—she had nice deep voice and it was actually more of a chuckle. “I’m the same with my ring. I’ve been wearing it since I was eighteen, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.” Then, she added, “You’re Vev, right? The second Force Hound?”

“I really need to do something about that,” Vev replied. “Tamid is younger than me. It’s not fair I’m second—but yes, I’m that Vev.”

“I’m Talia,” the woman answered with smile. It made the white tattoos on her face move, giving the illusion of the patterns changing. “By the way, Master Sendon was asking about you—do you know him?”

“No, who’s he?” Vev asked. She was something of a curiosity—not that she minded. The attention was really nice. Well, except when people were watching her try something the first few times and mess up. Then it was stressful. So, she wasn’t really surprised someone wanted to know more about her or talk with her.

“He’s an art historian—mostly focuses on paintings and visual novels,” Talia explained. “He’s also my cousin.”

“Oh, I like those,” Vev said with a grin. “Well, not the boring ones—I mean, the ones which look exactly like stuff that exists. It already exists, so why would you need to paint it like that?”

“I’m sure Ters can explain,” Talia laughed. “I can introduce you two at some point.”

“Sure,” Vev replied. “I’ve evenings free. So, I can meet him tomorrow or the day after tomorrow or-“

“I’ll let you know when he’s free,” Talia replied, “during our next lesson together.”


	2. Where Vev Has a Crush

Most lesser Masters were expected to at least occasionally hold lectures. Ters knew that some considered it a tedious duty, but then not everyone seemed to understand how important it was to not only gather knowledge, but also to spread it. He also suspected that most of his peers who complained their audience tended to doze off or surreptitiously play cards simply didn’t realize that their lack of enthusiasm was catching.

He had tried to explain it several times, but it seemed like those who disliked giving lectures were bent on also believing that Ters had a praeternatural talent for public speaking.

The downside of that was that once Ters was done speaking, there would be a queue of people who had questions. Well, for a given value of downside, really. But on that particular day, he did want to finish in time—which was turning out to be impossible.

“And this is the other reason why I said we should come to his lecture,” he heard Talia say. He noticed her and her companion a moment later—a short, slender dathomirian woman dressed in red. “Sorry people, my cousin is too nice for his own good, so I’m stealing him—we need to feed him, so he has energy to compose future lectures.”

And then, Ters found himself being unceremoniously led out. Talia tended to be one of the dancers who did the heavy lifting, and as such was a force not to be trifled with. Not that Ters had any intention of fighting being led towards dinner.

“I didn’t realize that brushes were so important,” the dathomirian woman said—Ters guessed this was Vev.

“Did you like the lecture?” Ters asked.

“Yes,” Vev said. “You probably could make really boring stuff sound interesting. I actually liked that picture which looked more like a still, when you were talking about it, and I normally don’t like them.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Ters answered. “Talia, you can let go of me now—I don’t think anyone will try to kidnap me.”

“Hey, you never know,” his cousin laughed, but she did let go of his hand. “And this is Vev. Vev, this is Ters.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ters said.

“You want to ask about being a Force Hound, right?” Vev replied. “It’s fine, everyone does. It’s not really that fun to listen to though—paintings and music and stuff are more interesting. Unless you want to know about rakata and their art? That’s also kinda boring, most of the time.”

“I think knowledge is important—all kinds of knowledge, not just the kind you enjoy,” Ters answered. “But please, don’t feel pressured to tell me things—I’d hate to make you revisit painful memories.”

Vev looked at him for a moment. “Okay. Then I will tell you about rakatan art. That’s mostly just silly—like they're only using it to show off, although I guess they must like some of it. You could ask Shartoaa, though. He might have a better idea about that.”

“I’d like to hear your opinion, all the same,” Ters said. “Your view of their art is equally important—you may not have been the main audience, but surely, their artists knew that people like you would also see and hear their art.”

Vev giggled then. “You’re sweet, you know?”

* * *

Vev was really starting to feel fond of Ters Sendon, and they'd only just met. True, he seemed to be curious about everything, which still seemed like a bit of a suicidal attitude, but he was also very polite about it. And even if he clearly really wanted to know, he did drop the subject of her upbringing when she said she wouldn’t talk about it.

He even actually indicated himself she didn’t have to talk about it, even though he wanted to know.

“So, the most common subject of rakatan art is war and conquest,” she explained, while Talia and Ters were busy preparing dinner. “Usually, a wealthy rakata will commission something—most often something that glorifies them, so some conquest they made, or if they don't have any under their belt then that of an ancestor, or if they don't have ancestors who conquered anything, they might just commission some legendary scene of war.”

“I see why you said it was a bit silly,” Ters said. “The subject matter seems to be quite limited.”

“Well, you’d occasionally get something that wasn’t about war,” Vev said. “I mean, once you had your respectable pieces about people getting dismembered or your ancestors standing on a pile of skulls, you could get stuff that you actually liked. But only if you were high enough in the hierarchy not to worry about your tastes insulting your superior. So, a dictator can get anything he wants, but most other rakata will prefer to get something the dictator of their planet likes.”

“And did the same apply to techniques, or was this as tied to the preference of superiors or tradition?” Ters asked. He had turned around and placed a bowl of some sort of fruit on the table. “Please, eat as many as you want.”

“What about you?” Vev asked, once she'd had a handful.

“Zabraks are a carnivorous species,” Talia answered. “I got those specifically for you.”

“Wait, you mean you can’t eat chocolate and sweets?” Vev asked. It sounded rather terrible—come to think of it, she had to wonder if the limited diet of the rakata was the reason they were so horrible to everyone else.

“We can eat or drink things that are basically milk with sugar,” Ters replied. “Chocolate is fine too, in small quantities.”

“Oh, well, that’s good,” Vev said. “Otherwise it sounds kind of boring.”

“Spices help with that,” Talia replied.

“Rakata can’t taste sweet,” Vev said. “My master was convinced it was a plot by other species to mock them.”

“That sounds very egocentric,” Ters said, as he put a plate in front of Vev.

“He was,” Vev replied. She took another serving of fruit, then added, “It was how they taught everyone to think. I mean, not the taste thing—I mean that everything is about them.” She paused—she was heading towards subjects that she didn’t really want to talk about. “It kinda shows in their art—I don’t think I’ve ever seen non-rakata as subjects. Only objects or background.”

“What about art created by the client species for the client species?” Ters asked. “Surely it exists?”

Vev shrugged. “I was pretty young when I was given away, so I don’t remember that very well.”

It wasn’t completely true, but she wasn’t about to speak about Dathomir. They’d given her away, so why should she care about them at all? And if she didn’t care about them, then she didn’t have to remember anything about them—so, it wasn’t really a lie. She was just choosing not to remember Dathomir, instead of just forgetting it.

“Anyway, what are we eating?” she asked. “It smells nice.”

* * *

Vev had known that eventually, she’d run out of stuff about rakata and art to tell Ters. At first she’d thought they’d part ways then, but that was no longer the plan. In fact, that had stopped being the plan during the dinner they had shared with Talia.

Ters wasn’t just cute. He was adorable. And had long black hair that looked silky, and a nice smile, and he’d made sure that there was things she’d like to eat, even though he couldn't enjoy them himself.

So, she needed another plan. She needed to find more reasons to be around him.

There was an obvious solution that presented itself—she knew Tamid, Tamid would have his own observations on rakata, but that would only work for the first meeting, likely. And there was always a chance Tamid would say no, so she needed a better plan.

She had thought about trying to seduce him, but after considering that idea for a while, she discarded it. Somehow, she doubted that he’d be charmed into her bed by an offer to explore the barren Vev valley, and she really wasn’t sure how to go about it in a more subtle way.

It seemed like she had nothing to offer him. Unless she told him the stuff she didn’t want to talk about, and then he might not like her at all.

“You’ve known him for a week,” Tamid pointed out. The holographic projection was slightly grainy, but she could see his skeptical expression. “You’ll be fine if you never talk with him again.” Then, before Vev could protest that this was not helpful at all, he added, “You could just ask him if he wants to go somewhere with you. Not everything has to be a transaction.”

Now it was Vev’s turn to look skeptical. “But why would he want to be around me after I told him everything he wanted to know?”

“Because you can talk enough for him and yourself,” Tamid replied.

Vev huffed. “I don’t talk that much, and not everyone is you and hates talking, and besides- besides I like listening to him, so-“

“Just ask,” Tamid said.

“But what if he says no?” Vev asked. She didn’t want it to happen.

“Then he says no,” Tamid replied. “You’ve survived worse.” He smiled at her then. “And if you don’t ask, he might think you don’t want to be around him anymore, and you won’t ever talk with him again, because you were afraid to ask.”

Which was disgustingly reasonable of him to say, but it was also kind of reassuring.

“All right, fine, but if he says no, you’re coming here and bringing me cake.”

* * *

Ters could tell Vev was nervous. It wasn’t particularly hard—she had been fidgeting and losing track of their conversation for a while now. He wasn’t sure why this was the case, however.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

Vev looked up at him, and shook her head. “I’m fine! Perfect!” She made a grimace that in theory was probably meant to be a smile. It fell a moment later. She looked down at her hands, and then back at him, her features set into a determined expression. “I just realized that I don’t have all that much to tell you about rakata and art, and once I do tell you everything, you- we’ll have no reason to be around each other, and- and um- I wanted to be friends with you?”

“Of course we can be friends,” Ters said, taken aback that she’d think his friendship was conditional. He moved closer to her, so that he could take her hands into his. “I love learning new things, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only thing I care about. I’m sorry if I gave the impression that I value you only as a source of information.”

“I didn’t mean to say that!” Vev said quickly. “I just- um… I guess, I- I don’t know- you’re very nice, but um… I guess I’m not used to people wanting me around without wanting something specific from me?”

“I like your company, Vev,” Ters said with a smile. “You’re very enthusiastic when you like something, and you have very interesting and amusing ideas. Some of which I’d have never had on my own.”

Vev looked away then, blushing. “I don’t think the last part is true. You’d just take longer to figure them out.”

“It is true,” Ters said. “Your ideas come from your experiences. I didn’t live through what you have—some things just won’t occur to me, because of this. And I’m afraid I’m not very good at being funny.”

“I didn’t really think I’m that good at it either,” Vev said, turning towards him again. “And anyway, you’re much nicer than I am. I mean, I wanted to ask you to be my friend and you ended up having to cheer me up.” She frowned for a moment, and then grinned. “Oh, I know! Can I start over?”

Ters didn’t think it was strictly necessary, but then it probably would make her feel better, so he said, “Of course.”

“Right,” Vev replied. “So, I like you a lot. Can we still meet up after I’m done explaining rakatan art to you?”

“I’d love to,” Ters replied. He didn’t really get to say anything else, because he found himself being subjected to a surprisingly strong embrace.


	3. Where Garon Faces Cooking and Loses

Léionore had helped Garon move into Akar Kesh—not that there had been much to help with, since he had owned almost nothing. It didn’t seem to have changed much—the room she’d entered was still undecorated, but at least there were some books on the bookshelves. He had also acquired a set of plates, it seemed, and new clothes.

“You like dark colours?” Léionore asked, as she took a sip of tea from the black cup.

“I suppose it shows,” Garon replied. He took the sleeve of his dark green shirt between his fingers with a self-deprecating smile. “Although this is mostly habit. I feel strange whenever I’m wearing anything pale.”

“It suits you,” Léionore replied, then took another sip of her tea. Then, before she made an idiot of herself again, she quickly switched to the more neutral subject of living space. “Do you plan on getting darker furniture too?”

“I hadn’t really thought of this,” he replied. “It’s all new to me—owning things, I mean. And I don’t know how long I’ll stay here.”

“You think you’re not suited for Akar Kesh?” she asked. It certainly was a possibility—she couldn’t really imagine very well how it would feel looking for your own place at his age.

Garon shook his head. “I don’t know that, either. It’s only been a few weeks so far. I’m learning a lot, but eventually I will need to start contributing somehow, and I can’t say if I will be any good.”

“You’re intelligent and insightful,” Léionore replied firmly. “You will be able to contribute.”

Garon smiled then, like he’d expected her to say that. “It’s kind of you to say so. Thank you.” He put his cup down and asked, “And how is your research doing?”

“Well, Immy died,” Léionore replied. “You remember? The tissue sample from a zabrak. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s something typical for all zabraks, or if it’s only my donor who will react negatively to that particular treatment. I’ll be getting more samples while I’m here.”

“How exactly does that work?” Garon asked. He did seem to be genuinely curious, which was a nice change compared to her parents. She usually paid it no mind, but the contrast was pretty stark in her mind now since she had visited them only a few days ago. It wasn’t that she doubted their love or their pride in her achievements, but the discipline she’d chosen seemed to simply be too far from their field of interest.

“It’s simple: I take a tissue sample from a volunteer,” Léionore explained. “Depending on the tests, it might be blood, or a bit of skin, or muscle—I rarely use bones, since that’s pretty invasive, but I did help Master Dam-Powl with them once. See there’s a degenerative bone disease wookiees tend to suffer from and to find a treatment, we did need to get a bit of bone.”

Garon grimaced then. “I don’t think many people would volunteer for that.”

“Well, it’s not like we cut you open and cut out the bone,” Léionore replied quickly. “It’s under local anesthesia, firstly, so you don’t actually feel it. And then I’d take a needle and get a little bit of bone—you wouldn’t miss it.”

“I don’t know,” Garon laughed. “I’m pretty fond of my bones, even if some of them might not believe that, given all the times they've been broken.”

“I promise not to chase you around with any needles then, unless it’s strictly necessary,” Léionore replied, smiling back at him.

Garon glanced at a clock off to his side. It was another new thing—boxy and solid, with a black case. “I’d offer lunch, but so far, I'm afraid cooking up to Tythonian standards is beyond me. I tried out some recipes, but I think I’m missing context.”

“Well, then you’re in luck,” Léionore replied. “I happen to understand those.”

* * *

It came to Garon as no surprise that he was missing a number of essential things for cooking. Outside of reheating rations or boiling meat until it was grey, all of his experiences with preparing food had happened at least twenty-seven years ago, and so he was mostly under impression it involved pots. And cutting stuff in shapes.

“This one is easy,” Léionore said, before shaking her head. “Ah, no, it needs to be blended.” She tapped the screen of her datapad with her thumb, until she finally said, “There we have it! I think we’ve got everything for this one.”

She peered at the haphazard collection of vegetables and fruit he had gotten in the hopes of preparing something edible out of them, and then looked at the white protein cube which was pretending not to taste like cardboard.

“So, let’s get started,” Léionore said, as she handed him the datapad. “Read the recipe and tell me if anything doesn’t make sense.”

“What’s marinating?” Garon asked. It apparently involved two types of juice, and pepper, which he wasn’t sure he had. Which also brought him to another point he was rather fuzzy on. “And how do you get the juice out of the fruit? Do I just squeeze them hard?”

“Yes, to the second question,” Léionore replied. “You need to cut them in half first. There are utensils that can help with that, but you don’t have those. And marinating is keeping things like meat or other protein sources in something sour, so it changes the taste. Especially when we have something like you have here,” she said holding up the protein cube. “You don’t want to eat that without making sure it tastes of some sort of sauce or marinade.”

“Right,” Garon said, then looked at the recipe again. “I don’t have a grill.”

“We’ll just fry everything up in a pan,” Léionore replied. She threw the protein cube at him with a grin. “Let’s get started. You do the marinade, I’ll handle peeling and cutting the vegetables.”

Garon had to laugh then. “How very sneaky of you to take over the task I can do with something approaching competence.”

“Then you don’t need to learn it, do you?” Léionore replied with a grin. She looked truly lovely now—auburn hair sneaking out of a messy pony-tail, a sparkle in her grey eyes.

Garon let the thought pass, and turned towards his task. “I suppose I don’t.”

* * *

Rajivari had considered what their next lesson should be about for some time. Garon Jard was going to be a challenge to teach—his age gave him a different perspective than most of his previous students, and at the same time, had never learned certain things that were considered basics for anyone in Akar Kesh.

In the end, he thought it best that they continue examining what Garon had learned in the Infinite Empire and build on that.

“We’ve been discussing the nature of strength and power, and of conflict, lately,” he said, when Garon had sat down in front of him. “I think we can move on to the next subject—what role does fear play in the philosophy of the Infinite Empire?”

Garon studied the same point at the wall behind Rajivari that he’d usually watch when he was thinking.

“It underlies it,” he said eventually. “It makes everyone crave power, because they believe that once they are powerful enough, they will no longer have to be afraid.”

“And what does it tell you about systems based on fear?” Rajivari asked.

“They make everyone miserable,” Garon replied. It wasn’t exactly the answer Rajivari would have given—it focused too much on emotions, but they all had to start somewhere.

“Even the rakata?” he asked, hoping to nudge the man towards the realization that emotions were not the best measure of how a society should be operated.

“Of course,” Garon replied, still certain of himself. “They’re the ones who built everything on fear—they’re seldom happy or satisfied. There’s always someone who is more powerful or someone who is eyeing their position a bit too covetously or any of them to feel secure for long.”

Although, perhaps basing the argument around emotions was not completely without merit. After all, rakatan philosophy was centered on feelings of fear and anger, so the first choice to counter that could very well be positive emotions.

“I see,” Rajivari replied. “Why do you think they do not try to change this?”

“Some do,” Garon said. “I was at the trial of a minor noble who had been helping slaves escape their masters. They condemned him to Mind Prison.”

“Mind Prison?” Rajivari asked, curious.

“I don’t know the technology behind it, but the name is quite literal,” Garon replied. “At least, if it works the way they claim it does. It’s meant to trap one’s consciousness for eternity. Only those who commit crimes of-“ He hesitated. “They have a word for it—it’s like sacrilege, except it doesn’t have to be religious. Something that undermines the core values?”

“That’s fascinating,” Rajivari said. “I wouldn’t have thought that slavery is such an important part of their society that helping slaves would be considered sacrilege. But I suppose they can't afford their conquests realizing they can join forces against them.”

It made a sort of sense, he supposed. The same kind of sense that led one to build a brittle image of strength by shows of terror, in hopes that no one would notice the weakness beneath. It was like building a house of cards, of course. There was no foundation to the construction, and if one element was removed, everything would come crashing down.

* * *

Explaining the Rakatan justice system had been an unpleasant experience. Then again, that could be said about a number of things that were related to the Infinite Empire—it certainly was no more horrible than their culinary endeavors. Not to mention, the two occasionally overlapped

Which brought him to his current situation—which was trying to make a meal for himself. It was more of a success than the last time he had attempted it on his own, though there clearly had been some point where he went wrong, given that the protein cube had turned into some sort of goop.

He tried it gingerly, but it tasted mostly of what he’d been cooking it in. There were no other signs that would indicate it had become poisonous, and looking unappetizing was no reason to throw out food.

He took another spoonful and then another. It certainly wasn’t awful in taste. Rather sour, which he thought it shouldn’t be, but again, no reason to get rid of food. There was also no reason to waste time with plates—he could easily eat out of the pot and really didn’t feel like creating more mess than he already had.

No one had ever told him that living on his own would be constant cleaning.

Still, it was a low price for freedom.

A low, grueling, repetitive price of freedom. Garon shook his head. People half his age were doing just fine, and here he was being grumpy about it.

Then again, he supposed it was better than dwelling on the Infnite Empire. In fact, getting things cleaned would probably be even better than either option.

Besides, cleaning was a lot less complicated than cooking.


	4. Where a Sticky Kitchen Is the Best Thing to Happen

The woman’s face was framed by horn-like protrusions, and her skin was scaly and orange. Cala couldn’t read her expression or body language—she wasn’t familiar with her species, after all. Instead, she had to rely on the Force.

The other woman was mostly suspicious, which seemed to be typical of almost everyone from the Infinite Empire. Even Garon had moments when he’d tense up, as if expecting something terrible to happen.

The former Force Hound was behind her, and the woman was watching him with almost palpable unease. Cala found it incongruous—she couldn’t really imagine feeling threatened by him, and yet it seemed like the woman found him to be the more unnerving presence out of the two of them.

Garon said something—Cala didn’t speak any of the languages the woman seemed to know, so she needed someone to translate. Then, the woman answered, and though Cala didn’t understand either of them, she thought the woman had a different accent than Garon.

“Her name is Shyrra,” he said to Cala. “She was a hastatus—a low-ranking pilot.”

“Can you introduce me?” she asked, and a moment later she heard Garon say something in the unknown language. The woman—Shyrra—turned to look at Cala, and now her attention was fully on her, as if Garon had become invisible.

“She’s quite direct,” Garon commented. “She wants to know why you care at all about how they—the Imperial soldiers—deal with their disputes. They don’t affect you.”

“Justice is justice,” Cala replied, as she sat down in front of Shyrra. “It doesn’t matter who commits a crime—they should be held up to the same standards, regardless of where they were born.”

Shyrra didn’t seem to like the answer, once Garon had translated it. She shot back quickly, heated words spilling from her like a torrent.

“Do you want me to translate the insults?” Garon asked.

“Not particularly, no,” Cala replied.

“Then the gist is that this is nonsense, and you should be happy to have one problem less,” he said.

“A man died,” Cala answered calmly. “He died because of a bowl of soup. That he was wrong to steal it does not change that he was murdered. Revenge is not the same as justice.”

Once Garon translated, Shyrra shot back, as quickly as before. Clearly, Cala’s arguments were not speaking to her—though, to be fair, they had been more slogans than actual arguments.. She probably would have to go into depth.

“She says that if she had let him take it, it’d be a show of weakness and she’d be dead now,” Garon replied, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s… possible she’s right. It’s equally possible that the same person would just keep stealing her lunch.”

Cala shook her head. “Not killing someone is not the same as letting them harm you. This is ridiculous. No, don’t translate that. Give me a moment.” She looked at the woman for a moment, as she composed her arguments in her mind. “Her actions came from her emotions. She was angry, and she reacted. It was not a proportionate reaction—she could have taken the soup back, she could have called a guard. Instead, she chose to kill another man because she was angry.

It may have felt just, in the moment. It may still feel like that to her—but that doesn’t mean it’s _right_. A plate of soup will feed you for a while, and that’s it. The value of a sentient being’s life can’t really be compared—this man could have become more than a canteen bully. He could have achieved more—he won’t now, though.”

It took a moment for Garon to translate, and this time Shyrra didn’t answer right away. Cala sensed disbelief from her—it seemed to replace every other feeling, until it boiled over and the woman exclaimed something.

“She doesn’t believe a ‘maybe’ is more important to you than reality,” Garon said. “And thinks you’d do the same in her place.”

“And I don’t believe anyone can seriously defend murdering another person over _soup_ ,” Cala said. It was such a frustrating conversation—surely anyone should be able to see how disproportionate the reaction was?

“I can,” Garon said quietly. When Cala looked at him sharply, he continued. “It’s not what you think—but if you are starving, or if you have ever been close to starving, you will not see it as just a plate of soup. It will be a life or death matter for you.

“That said, if you are no longer in danger of starving, you probably shouldn’t follow your instinct,” he said. “And I doubt she’d admit if this was the reason—it’s more likely that she is telling the truth and killed the man because not doing so would make her seem weak.”

Cala had not considered the possibility, that was true. She also realized that there was the distinct possibility she’d never find the right arguments to convince Shyrra on her own to show at least some remorse.

“How would you explain that what she did was wrong, then?” she asked.

* * *

Garon looked at the pilot. She wasn’t paying attention to him anymore—once he’d started translating, he’d become background. It didn’t surprise him. She had likely recognized him as a slave, and so, once he didn’t execute her on the spot, he had stopped being a threat. She likely wouldn’t guess that he wouldn’t be translating now.

“I don’t know if I can convince her, but I can try,” he said to Cala, before addressing Shyrra. “You didn’t prove your strength by killing him—you wouldn’t have done it, had you believed that you would be punished,” he said.

“Of course not,” Shyrra answered. “But now there’s one less mouth to feed for you. There’s no reason for you to care.”

“What makes you think there’s a food shortage?” Garon asked.

The woman looked at him then. “Wait. You’re not translating.”

“Not right now, no,” Garon replied. So she wasn’t completely forgetting his presence.

He could sense that Shyrra didn’t know what to think about it. Most likely, she’d think it a trick of some sort, if given time to consider it.

“I’m trying to help you,” he said on an impulse. True, she’d murdered a man and that had been wrong, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t have a chance to learn to be better. He had.

“Why would you do that?” she asked, suspicious.

Garon paused for a moment, and then said, “Because I wish someone had helped me when I was younger.”

That was apparently too bizarre for Shyrra. She sat and stared at him, as if he had turned into a void dragon.

“You made a mistake,” he said. “A bad one—you thought you were still in a place where you need to fight to survive. You don’t. You can ask for help. You’re not alone. And the man you killed—he’s beyond getting the help he needed. Do you understand?”

Shyrra continued staring at him for another moment. Finally, she said, “I don’t think you should try helping me. You might fit in here—I never will.” 

“That’s not true,” Garon said. “Do you think it’s easy talking with you, when you were acting like I didn't exist a few minutes ago? It’s not. Just as it’s not easy for me to remember that if someone stops just behind me, they’re not trying to stab me from behind. But it’s doable—and if I can do it, why can’t you?”

Shyrra didn’t seem to expect that—he supposed she had hoped to hear that it would be too hard for her and not to bother trying.

“Think about it,” he said. Then he turned to Cala and said, “We’re done.”

* * *

Cala couldn’t say she was happy, but at the same time, she couldn’t say the result was unexpected. She didn’t have many shared experiences with Shyrra to call upon. It wasn’t surprising she couldn’t convince her.

“What did I do wrong?” she asked Garon after they left.

“Nothing,” the man replied. “You said all the right things—it was just too early for her to want to understand them.”

“What do you mean by that?” Cala asked.

“That accepting that she did something immoral at this point is not something she can do,” Garon replied. “Because it’d mean she’s been a bad person most of her life. And possibly, it also means that she could have acted differently in situations where she told herself she had no choice.”

Cala turned to look at him then. There was something about how he had phrased it that made her worried. “You’re not just talking about her, are you?”

“It’s nothing you have to worry about,” Garon replied. “I’m fine.”

“I know we barely know each other, but if you’d like to talk about anything, I’ll listen,” Cala said.

“It’s a kind offer, but there’s no need,” Garon replied firmly. It seemed that he wasn’t going to even consider taking her up on the offer. Then again, he did barely know her, and from what she’d learned about the Infinite Empire, showing any vulnerability to anyone was pretty suicidal.

“So, you were saying that it would be too difficult for her to accept my arguments?” she said, deciding to change the subject for now.

“Yes,” Garon replied. “But it doesn’t mean she never will. Or any of them. They will need time to accept them, mostly.”

* * *

Garon had expected to face things he didn’t like or didn’t want to face, when he’d agreed to translate for Cala. He thought he was prepared—and yet, he couldn’t help but to dwell on what he told Shyrra, and later what he had said to Cala.

He knew there was no point in it—that no matter how many times he asked himself if he could have done things differently, the past would remain the same. He couldn’t change it, and wishing for it to happen was useless. So, he decided to make an attempt at reading one of the books Rajivari had recommended.

It proved to be a futile effort. Try as he might, he just couldn’t get through the book he’d been given to read. The words were swimming in front of his eyes, and he realized he’d been staring at the same page for the last ten minutes, without even noticing.

He was not going to read any more of it for now, he realized. Perhaps eating something would help.

Except that turned into another disaster. He dropped two glasses, one after another, and each shattered. Then, when he tried to clean that up, he cut his palm open on a larger shard. The blood left a smudge on the cupboard and on the floor, and once he’d picked out the glass from his flesh, he’d also found out he had nothing left to eat.

He leaned against the wall, and breathed out. This wasn’t all supposed to be hard. People half his age seemed to manage fine, and yet here he was, completely unable to do anything productive.

And then he heard the buzz that meant someone wanted to come in. He almost didn’t react, but he caught sight of the clock and realized it was Léionore. She’d be leaving tomorrow, and the thought made him gather enough strength to get to the door and let her in.

“I brought something for us to eat,” she said, holding up a bag. Then she looked at his hand, and asked, “Is everything all right?”

He wanted to say something light—maybe that he lost a fight with a glass—but it never happened. Instead, he pulled her into a hug, the need for closeness completely bypassing his brain, it seemed.

A moment later, he felt arms wrap around him and heard a slightly muffled, “I guess that’s a no.”

He couldn’t help but to laugh at the comment. Somehow, it was what he needed to hear. “I was mostly feeling sorry for myself. It’s fine. I’ll live.”

“Everyone occasionally does that,” Léionore replied. “And you won’t just live—you’ll get better.”

* * *

“Mama! Look!” Chand said. Cala looked up from the datapad, where she had been writing up her recommendations for explaining the laws of a given planet to the soldiers from the Infinite Empire. Her daughter was levitating what appeared to be jam, her face split by a proud grin.

In fact, it seemed that jam had not only been an object of exercise for Chand. There was some in her short black hair, and on her tiny horns, not to mention her cheeks and nose.

“You’re a very talented girl,” Cala said, “but I don’t think this is where jam goes.”

“Yummy!” Chand replied cheerfully and Cala only just managed to catch the wobbly mess before it fell to the floor. She’d have enough cleaning to do with a sticky child, as it was.

“The floor isn’t hungry, dear,” Cala replied, as she picked up Chand. It turned out that jam had also found its way onto her clothes, and so also was soon on Cala’s too. “Let’s put that away and get you cleaned up.”

“Mama’s hungry?” Chand asked hopefully.

Cala looked at her sticky, jam-covered daughter with a sense of dread rising in the pit of her stomach.

“Did you make food for me, dear?” she asked.

Chand nodded energetically. “I made sanwiches!” Then, when she saw Cala’s alarmed expression, she amended, “I didn’t get knives, ‘cause the drawer was locked, so I used cookies ‘stead of bread.”

So she and Idril had potentially a sticky kitchen to clean and not just a jam-covered daughter. Well, it was best if Cala checked the situation. And ate a cookie with jam.


	5. Where Shae Befriends Space Whales

The dancers moved like ghosts, the impression helped by their blue-grey clothes. The dresses and sleeves billowed behind them as they moved. The lights had been dimmed, so that only the dancers and some key pieces of decorations were the focus. The decorations themselves were minimal—a gauzy curtain that served as the symbolic border between the land of the living and the dead.

There was also a story being told, one that supposedly had originated on the Cathar homeworld. Ters had read it before attending the performance, but apparently Vev had not, so he’d been dividing his attention between explaining it to her and watching.

“The lead dancer is a murderer,” he whispered. “This is why he’s wearing red gloves. The other dancers are his victims.”

He was a bit surprised that Vev had waited until nearly the climax to ask about the plot—his answer came just moments before the “ghosts” made to grab the lead dancer. After a brief struggle, they dragged him behind the curtain.

“And they kill him?” Vev asked. “Good for them.”

“Do you really think so?” Ters replied. “They had to be really- No, I suppose being murdered is terribly upsetting. Let’s forget I was trying to say anything.”

“I’d think under most circumstances it would be,” Vev answered solemnly. “That was nice though—I liked the clothes, they were all floaty—they were using the Force to move them, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” Ters answered. “A lot of performances can be augmented by the Force—for example, someone of your build could use it to lift their partner, so dancers aren’t as limited by how they’re built.”

“It might look silly, though,” Vev replied. Then she grinned at him. “Do you dance?”

“Not professionally,” Ters said. “Why?”

“Well, the stuff I’m learning is very… um… controlled,” Vev said. “It’s nice and fun, but I’m doing it the way someone else wants me to, because someone else has the big plot idea and everything, and I wanted to do something for fun. Except not alone.”

“Are you inviting me to dance?” Ters asked, amused. It certainly sounded like it.

Vev hesitated, as she studied his face for a moment, before nodding. “Yes? Not right now—that’d be weird. But um… whenever you want to? Unless you don’t want to?”

“I did invite you this time, so I think it’s a good way of returning the favour,” Ters replied. “Same time next week?”

Vev grinned at him. “Yes! Now let’s go eat something?”

* * *

Qigong Kesh took some getting used to. The crowds were one thing—Anil Kesh didn't lack them, either—but the temperatures were something else. Some spots, the ones that were directly in the sun, where blisteringly hot. Others, where the shadows were deepest, were cool. Then, there were the parts on ground level, where the muting effect of the sands extended and where one couldn’t be heard, or where one’s voice was a mere whisper.

Tamid had to wonder if he’d always feel slightly ill at ease wherever he went. It was nowhere near as bad as when he'd first come to Tython, when everything was foreign and terrifying, or back when he’d been a Force Hound and isolated from all except Tul’kar. But the sense that this was not home, that he was out of place—moss from the tundra transplanted into a desert—remained.

“Moving was hard,” Shae said, her hologram flickering slightly. She was a Ranger now, and had been given her first assignment. Nothing truly dangerous—just patrol duty. “I definitely felt rather weird for a while. Nothing was where it should be, the food wasn’t the same and I missed all the people I knew terribly.”

“I don't think that's all of it for me,” Tamid replied. “It’s… me. I’ve been a stranger everywhere I’ve been since I was a child. I’m not sure I know how it feels to be at home, what it's like to belong.” He shrugged. “I barely remember anything about my home—I know… there were things that were important, that I should know, but I can’t remember any of them.”

“I wish I knew how to help you,” Shae said, reaching out with her hand as if to touch his face.

“It’s enough that you listen,” Tamid replied. “It’s not- It’s not unbearable. And maybe it is something I can learn. But that’s really quite enough of my moping—how are you doing?”

“Well, I’m in space,” Shae replied with a shrug. “No fun animals to study. Unless I do what Master Quan-Jang did and try to study the furies, and I think I’d rather get better at piloting before I risk setting my ship on fire.”

“Please don’t do that,” Tamid said. “Your teacher is…”

“A bit insane?” Shae replied with a smile. “Yes. And besides, I likely won’t find out anything he didn’t already. So, I will be a good, careful Ranger, and keep myself alive until I can come back to Tython and go back to studying terentas and rancors.”

“I can’t believe you’ve animals that make rancors look cuddly,” Tamid replied while shaking his head.

“Rancors are big softies,” Shae replied with a laugh. “You just need to know their habits and make sure you don’t startle them, make them think you’re food or that you’re going to hurt their babies.”

Tamid grinned then. “I have to go. Don’t pet any strange animals, OK?”

“And you remember to put on sunscreen,” Shae replied grinning back.

“Love you,” he said. It did feel a bit strange saying it out loud, but it made her smile.

“Love you too,” she replied.

* * *

The Force was everywhere, because life was everywhere. It was a truth Shae had learned long ago, when she’d first read a book on the depths of the ocean and the bacteria that didn’t need oxygen to survive. A few days later, she was reading about the furies, which were as much crystal as they were alive.

Some even argued that the kyber crystals that could be found in the caves on Krev Coeur and in a few places on Tython were alive. It was hard to deny that, when one was humming softly at the edge of her consciousness whenever she had her lightsaber on her.

None of it, however had lead her to expect to meet creatures like these. They were enormous, with bodies in the shape of certain large marine creatures but ending in four tentacles. And they swam through space.

Most had grey skin, but two individuals were purple with blue markings. Their eyes were large, blue and placed at the sides of their heads. It made Shae wonder what threats they needed to be mindful of. 

Shae watched them through her viewport, as she carefully reached out with her mind towards the creatures. She didn’t touch any specific one, but merely tried to feel their presence in the Force, gauge their reactions and see if she could convince them to let her approach them.

And then, one of the creatures reached out to her. She sensed its curiosity moments before one of the purple ones broke away from the flock and swam towards her ship. It stopped when its eye was peering directly into her viewport.

“Hello,” Shae said.

* * *

It had started with a book that Rajivari had asked Garon to read, and then decided to discuss in one of the gardens instead of in his rooms. Not that Garon had anything against that—he was quite certain his opinion was pretty reasonable.

Admittedly, he was also aware that his former master thought slavery was quite reasonable, so one’s own opinion was not always entirely accurate.

“Power should not come from strength,” he said. “At least in my personal experience, people who espouse the idea seem to equate strength with power, and tend to mean that people in power should stay in power.”

Rajivari looked at him with an unreadable expression then. Several other people seemed to start paying attention to them too, or at least Garon registered a few spikes of curiosity around him.

“If you put it like that, then the idea will obviously lack any merit and will be a mere excuse of those with power to keep on wielding it regardless of qualifications,” Rajivari replied. “But what if we define strength differently? What if we talk about force of personality and convictions when we say "strength"?”

“Those are useful for a leader,” Garon replied, “but not the sole criterion, or even the main one a leader should be chosen for. If someone is very strongly convinced that they are superior to me and that means they shouldn’t be punished for killing me, I am in no way obliged to support them just because their conviction is strong.”

“You are saying then that a leader must be someone whose interests align with those of all of their followers? A popularity contest?” Rajivari asked.

“Their interests must not harm others,” Garon replied. “If they do, then there will be strife, and the effort and means that could be spent on bettering the situation of others will instead go to those who oppose them being silenced and subdued.”

“What you say is clearly shaped by your experiences with the rakata,” Rajivari started to say, which got a snort from Garon.

“Of course it is,” he replied. “That doesn’t make me wrong. I know from personal experience what "might makes right" means.” He paused to consider his next words. “I am not threatening you, Rajivari, but consider this—if we were to apply it, I’d be right merely because I am younger and a trained killer. Not because I can make a convincing argument, but because if we were to fight, I’d win. Likewise, you’d have to accept the Infinite Empire as right, simply because it has vast armies and a great number of spaceships.”

Now there was a small ring of listeners gathered around them. Rajivari seemed to notice them only just now, as he considered his answer. Finally, he smiled. “You do make your point well. An argument won by force is merely an argument silenced, and the other position is not falsified simply because the person in it was in a position where they could be threatened.”

That had been almost too easy. Perhaps there was something else there that he was missing, but Garon didn’t have time to consider it.

“Excuse me?” one of the listeners—a tall felinoid woman asked. Garon thought her species was called togorians. “You make good points about what a leader shouldn’t be, but do you have any thoughts on what they should be like?”

It was only then that Garon realized the people gathered around them had been listening to _him_ specifically and hadn’t been there for Rajivari. It was a bit disconcerting, realizing that people were interested in what he had to say.

When he'd first come to Tython, he wouldn’t have been able to answer the question. But now, he thought he had least was starting to have an inkling.

“If you lead anyone, you are doing that for the benefit of others,” he replied. “You must have a clear idea of how you will achieve this.”

“And what of the leader’s own benefit?” Rajivari asked.

“Is as important as that of anyone else,” Garon replied. “I’m not saying they need to give away everything they have and rule from an hermitage, but being in charge doesn’t make them automatically entitled to more than those who they’re leading. It’s a task they have, and they should be able to do it well, in a way that benefits all involved.”

“So you’re saying their work shouldn’t be recognized specifically?” another of the listeners—a mirialan man—asked.

Fortunately, Garon was quite ready for that kind of question, and turned to Rajivari, “You were the Temple Master here—did you do it for the recognition or because you thought it was the best way you could contribute?”

“The latter,” Rajivari replied without hesitation. “Recognition is nice, but I had that from teaching and writing already.”

“So, do you think wanting recognition is a bad reason to try becoming a leader?” the same listener asked.

“It is,” Garon said after a moment. “It will drive one to make choices that will be popular, but that doesn’t necessarily make them good. If one wants to be recognized by the rich, one may make laws that will let them abuse the poor to grow richer. If one wants to be recognized by the military, then one will pass laws that will lead to wars.

“How often do people want to be recognized by those they deem powerless?” he continued.

“What about Hadiya? She appealed to the commoners on Shikaakwa,” a different listener—a twi'lek woman—asked.

“They’re the majority,” the togorian woman said. “They’re hardly powerless. You didn’t see her attempting to gain traction with people cast out from their families, though, did you?”

The twi’lek woman nodded slowly. “True. That is a good point.”


	6. Where the Truth of Tamid's Origins Comes Out

It took Shae a few days for the whole flock to accept her enough for her to be able to approach them. If she hadn’t been able to connect psychically with them, it’d have likely taken much longer. But as it was, she could sense their minds and ease their anxiety about the unknown presence.

They didn’t seem to like ships much—as far as she could tell, they had some unpleasant memories of them, but the images she caught were those of rakatan vessels, which fortunately were unlike hers. Still, it was fortunate that they were willing to trust her.

The creatures circled around her ship, flying closer and then retreating, until the one she thought was the matron of the flock approached. Before Shae could react, one of her tentacles wrapped around her ship.

Shae sensed no malice from the creature, and since it wasn’t squeezing, she made no attempt to escape. Not that she had much time—almost as soon as the matron had her ship firmly in her grip, she and the whole flock turned in one direction and the view around her changed.

Stars became lines of light, and several alarms started blaring at her. And then, just as quickly, the view resolved itself into darkness only occasionally dotted by stars. Closer by she could see floating debris—small asteroids mostly, with a few big ones here and there. Her scan detected none of the familiar planets.

Shae reached out with her mind towards the creatures, and sensed...reassurance?...from the matron, who released her grip on Shae’s ship. She swam closer to one of the asteroids, then turned towards Shae’s ship, and then swam a bit closer to the asteroid.

Clearly, she’d brought Shae here for a reason, and though she was more than a little spooked, Shae managed to start flying behind her. Once she approached, she saw that there was some sort of gas gathered in one of the craters. She wondered why it wasn’t dissipating in the void, just as the first of the creatures dove down towards it. As Shae watched, it inhaled for the first time since she saw them, and swam away, letting another of the creatures approach.

Once the flock had almost depleted the crater, the matron turned to Shae’s ship. She sensed something like a query—did they expect her to do the same?

“I can’t do this,” Shae said, trying to get the meaning across with only emotions. It was fairly difficult, especially since she couldn’t rely on the creatures seeing her and recognizing her body language.

The matron swam around her a few times, and bumped her head against the ship, before it finally seemed to dawn on her that Shae’s ship was not capable of inhaling gas. She wrapped her tentacle around the ship then, and once more, Shae found herself watching the eerie lines of light around her.

She slumped down into her chair in relief when the familiar shape of Tython finally appeared before her.

* * *

Vev was trying to organize her notes. She had a feeling it’d be much easier if she’d made them in some tangible form rather than as datafiles, but she was not rewriting them on paper now. It seemed rather wasteful to do that, in any case, given just how much more resources went into making paper. Especially since she'd be the only one using her notes.

So it was with some relief that she took a call from Tamid. His hologram face seemed to be set into a frown—which in itself wasn’t particularly strange, he still frowned a lot.

“So, are you calling me because you miss me or because you have something terrible to share with me, or are just frowning because you like frowning?” she asked with a grin.

Tamid’s expression got somewhat uncomfortable then, and he started looking away from her. “I just wanted to ask you something. But you probably won’t know.”

“Hey, you don’t know that,” Vev protested. “I know plenty of things you don’t know. For example, I know how to do an arabesque.”

Tamid glared at her then, but she also caught his lips twitching a bit as he fought to suppress a smile. “Right. It’s not about… artsy stuff.”

“What is it about then?” she asked, leaning forward so that she could rest her elbows on her knees. “Come on, I won’t laugh. Or tell you it’s a stupid question. And I’m curious.”

Tamid took a deeper breath then and said, “Do you know where I’m from?”

Vev blinked. “I don’t know that… but maybe Garon will be able to guess? I mean, I’m not that much older than you, so I don’t know where there were campaigns with human planets being conquered or raided, but he might, right?”

Tamid nodded. “Yes, I guess he’s more likely to know.”

“Why do you want to know? It’s not like you can just go back there,” Vev pointed out. She didn’t mention that his family was most likely dead or that they might not want him back—he could guess both, after all, on his own without her rubbing his nose in it.

“It’s… Everyone around me knows that—where they’re from, who their parents are…” he said after a moment.

Vev nodded. “You’re feeling like you don’t belong? Kind of like… everyone is very nice about it and they do seem to understand once I explain, but you and Garon are the only people who I don’t have explain what it was like being a Force Hound.”

“Yes,” Tamid said after a moment. “Maybe we should meet in person sometime?”

“That’s a great idea,” Vev said. “You can come here, I’ll invite Garon and… and I’ll think of something for us to do.”

* * *

Garon had yet to visit any other temples than Akar Kesh and Stav Kesh, so the invitation from Vev came as a welcome surprise, and not simply because he quite liked both her and Tamid. Tython was strikingly different from most of what he’d known through his life. A part of him insisted he should be seeing all of it, in case it all came crashing down.

But it didn’t have the same certainty as when the Force was telling him something important was about to happen. It was just an old habit—to never trust something good would last, that it wouldn’t be taken away.

The thought was nothing more than a whisper, and it faded into the background as soon as he stepped into Bodhi. It was different from the other temples he’d been to—louder and brighter, although the impression might have been slightly exaggerated by Vev, who'd come running through the crowd.

“You’re here!” she said as she stopped in front of him and spread out her arms. It took Garon a moment to realize that she was expecting a hug, but he obliged—it was a bit like getting embraced by a very small and determined purrgil.

Not that he’d ever experienced that, given that hardly anyone survived meetings with purrgils.

“I’m glad to see you too,” he said, as he patted her back gently.

“Are you hungry?” Vev asked as she stepped away from him and gave him a measuring look. “We can grab something on the way back. I left Tamid with Ters, whom you haven't met yet, but he’ll be probably getting impatient—Tamid, I mean. I’m not sure Ters is capable of being impatient.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Garon said, once Vev stopped to breathe. “Do you have anything you like?”

“Sure,” Vev laughed. “Everything.”

Garon had to smile back then. “It’s a good thing we’re easy to feed, isn’t it?”

* * *

Tamid decided he didn’t mind Ters—he’d kept his questions to the subject of the Force and plants, which Tamid quite appreciated. He’d have appreciated it even more if Ters had been a bit more like Vev and done more talking. Not too much like Vev, though, because with two Vevs, no one would ever get to say anything.

“Sek’nos says it’s a lot like healing,” Tamid finished. “I can’t really make them into something they wouldn’t be, but there’s a lot you can get with a tree, anyway.”

Which was when Vev entered the room with a slightly stunned Garon in tow. They were both carrying bags which smelled like food, and if Tamid had any doubt of their contents, Vev was obviously in the midst of explaining what they’d gotten.

“And she likes to experiment with things, and does all sorts of weird things with food,” she was saying, “except it actually is tasty, unlike the courtly experiments. Did I ever tell you about how Skal’nas decided he needed a whole dinner roasted on a fire made from nuts?”

“Tul’kar complained about it for a day or so,” Tamid said. “Said it gave him indigestion.”

“I think that’s all I need to know,” Garon replied. Then he turned to Ters and said, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Garon Jard.”

“Ters Sendon,” Ters replied as he got up. “I’d love to talk with you, but I’ve got to go.”

“You can come back later,” Vev said quickly, as she let him pass her.

“Thank you,” Ters said as he leaned down to kiss Vev’s cheek. “But I’d rather not intrude. We can see each other tomorrow, when you’ve had enough time to enjoy with your friends.”

Vev gave him a look that probably should be reserved for the person who invented chocolate, which Tamid decided to keep to himself. If she was happy, he didn’t need to go around making fun of her for that.

* * *

Garon had eaten and managed to get apprised of Tamid’s and Vev’s latest endeavors—the young man was mostly busy finding out how much he could do with his talents in the Force, and Vev was becoming more and more proficient as a dancer.

And then, once Garon finished giving them a summary of his own progress Tamid asked, “Do you know where I’m from?”

“You could try and be a bit less blunt about those things,” Vev said with a sigh.

“It’s fine,” Garon said, as he scratched the scar left by his tattoo through the sideburn that was now hiding it. “I’m the logical choice to ask about it.” Then he looked at Tamid for a moment. “You’re… hm… around twenty now, aren’t you?”

Tamid nodded. “Yes. At the age when humans start growing wisdom teeth.”

Garon gave him a sympathetic look—he recalled his own experience with that period as quite miserable. It wasn’t that the pain was unbearable, but it just wouldn’t stop.

“And I was taken in a conquest,” Tamid added. “I remember that much.”

Which narrowed down the planets to one very quickly.

“Corellia,” Garon said. “It’s the only planet with a human population that was conquered in the right timeframe.”

He hesitated then—he knew he needed to tell Tamid, but it still was not something he wanted to do at all. He could think of a number of excuses—that it was in the past, that it’d only bring pain—but they’d all be excuses in the end and not actual reasons to avoid telling the truth.

“I was part of that conquest,” he said. “But I don’t remember much of the planet. I’m sorry.”

Predictably, Tamid flinched. He balled his hands into fists and then closed his eyes. Garon and Vev both sat in silence, waiting for him to calm himself. The moment stretched, and Garon could sense the young man struggling with his thoughts, though not what exactly what they were, only that there was pain and anger there.

Then, Tamid finally opened his eyes again. “You helped me despite the fact that I killed someone you cared for. And each of us has more than one conquest like that to our name—I can't say I'll forgive myself but not you, when we’re both trying to make sure it’s not all that we’ve ever done.”


	7. Where Tamid Learns to Appreciate the Amygdala

Tamid stared at Shae and the hologram she was holding. On it, a purrgil was playfully swimming around in space, as if it weren’t a huge monster with teeth bigger than a wookiee, tentacles, and a tendency to take offence to spaceships.

Although, to be fair, they seemed to mostly take offence to rakatan spaceships, and on reflection, Tamid found that he couldn’t exactly blame them for it. If he were a space-faring creature, he’d also want to destroy rakatan ships.

Still. “You went and befriended dangerous creatures,” he said, shaking his head.

“They didn’t seem dangerous,” Shae replied with a laugh. “Big, sure, but I’ve dealt with big animals before. And they’re very smart, and I think the matriarch is Force sensitive.”

“You’re the expert,” Tamid said, as he stepped closer and pulled her into a hug. “I really shouldn’t have asked you not to befriend scary creatures. If you tried, the universe would end or something.”

Shae laughed and wrapped her arms around him. “Absolutely. And we can’t have that. Where would we live without a universe?” Then she stepped away from him and added, “But you recognize those?”

“Yes,” Tamid said. “Purrgils. They sometimes attack rakatan ships.”

Shae grinned in reply. “I _like_ them.”

Tamid grinned back—it really was hard not to find it amusing now. “It does seem very sensible of them, doesn’t it?”

“But that means no one's studied them?” Shae asked and Tamid shook his head. “Because it seems they can travel like the rakata do. Except they don’t need to fuel themselves with suffering to do that.”

That was not the kind of news Tamid had expected. It did make some sense, though—without any ability to travel through hyperspace, explaining the randomness of purrgil sightings was extremely convoluted.

“How do you know?” he asked nonetheless. “Did they take you on a trip?”

“Yes,” Shae replied. “It was a bit scary, to tell the truth. I didn’t know if they’d understand they should take me back, but they eventually did. It’s a pretty complex thing to explain, not the usual level of ‘go there’ or ‘sit’ that I deal with.”

Tamid frowned. There was something that occurred to him now, and he wasn’t sure if he should tell her or not. She’d try it, if he suggested it, and put herself in danger. But if he didn’t… wasn’t that being over-protective?

Besides, maybe he could ask her to take him?

“Do you think you could tell them where to go?” he asked.

Shae tapped her chin as she considered the question for a moment. Then she nodded. “Yes. I think I could do that, but I’d need to know where I want to go first.”

“That’s easy,” Tamid said. “You can just ask me, Garon, or Vev to give you directions.”

* * *

It was not every day that one’s apprentice discovered a new life form in space. True, the life form in question had apparently been discovered by the rakata, which took some of the enjoyment out of the news, but Quan-Jang felt quite proud nevertheless.

“Perhaps, before you let your apprentice have giant space whale-octopuses take my apprentice to unknown parts of the galaxy,” Daegen Lok said dryly, “you could suggest to her that she should practice other commands on them.”

“Do go on, Daegen,” Quan-Jang replied with an indulgent smile. “I fear that in my old age, I’ve lost all of my common sense and forgotten how to deal with the subject to which I’ve devoted most of my adult life.”

Daegen sighed. “While I’m heartened to hear that you trust my intellect-“

“You’re worried about Tamid,” Quan-Jang cut him off. “Who as far as we can tell, has yet to meet anything that could kill him. Including saarls, crash landings and two rakatan invasions. A hyperspace journey won’t hurt him.”

“That he will survive, I’ve no doubt of,” Daegen replied testily. “But I’d like to see him again, and it will be _a little bit_ difficult, if he’s on the other side of the galaxy and the space whales decide they’re not bringing him back.”

Which, admittedly, would be upsetting if it happened to Shae, too. “I’m sure Shae thought of it, but I will remind her to ensure that the purrgils understand her.”

“And could we maybe ban rakata from naming things?” Daegen added. “I doubt those purr or have gills.”

“I’ll write a very strongly worded letter on the subject,” Quan-Jang replied. “Then you can figure out how to send it.”

“I appreciate your faith in my intellect, Master Quan, but I’m afraid taking up engineering is not on my list of interests,” Daegen replied. “I’m sure someone at Vur Tepe will be interested in sending strongly worded letters of complaint to the rakata.”

Then, he looked at Quan-Jang, his expression and tone turning more serious. “You must realize the implications of this though.”

“Of course,” Quan-Jang replied. “We’ve been looking for an alternative power source for a test hyperdrive here, but it seems that we may be able to look for it outside of the system now. And that means we should start planning where we need to go first.”

* * *

It wasn’t only Shae who was now trying to communicate with the purrgil flock. Several other Rangers similarly gifted when it came to communicating with animals had joined her. Shae still had a slight advantage, simply because she was a known presence to the creatures and had already won some trust.

The matriarch at least appeared to be friendly towards Shae, and approached her ship once in a while to run a tentacle over its hull. Shae would feel something like a query in her mind—a bit like “how are you?” and she’d send the emotional equivalent of “all is well”.

And she made notes on the behavior of the purrgil. They seemed to be highly social, engaging in what was definitely play behavior. At one point, she spotted two of them tossing a piece of space debris towards each other, and they’d regularly race against each other.

Eventually, Shae decided to see if she could join in. Carefully, she sent a different question after the matriarch greeted her.

“Do you want to race?” she asked. The matriarch seemed confused at first, so Shae tried to imagine the question differently. It took her a few moments, before finally she saw the image of her spaceship and the matriarch racing in the mind of the purrgil.

Then she sensed a confirmation, just seconds before the matriarch started to move. She scrambled to her controls, following the purrgil and trying to outfly her. It wasn't easy; the creature was clearly an expert when it came to space-flight, zigging and zagging in front of Shae to to make sure she'd not pass her. At the same time, she was clearly careful to keep enough distance as not to crash into Shae’s ship.

And then she turned around, to circle Shae’s ship as it came to a stop too.

“You won,” Shae laughed as she sent the same to the purrgil. At least, she hoped that’s what the matriarch was receiving—she at least was sensing amusement from her…

* * *

On the whole, Ranger ships could have been bigger. At least in Tamid’s opinion. He was prepared to admit he was biased—while he’d never been prone to panicking like some other Force Hounds, cramped spaces still made him uneasy. Fortunately, he had books to read on his datapad that’d distract him.

One was even written by Daegen, and while Tamid found himself checking a number of things as he read, he was quite surprised to find out that brains were quite amusing. He could actually imagine his teacher sitting next to him and giving him a lecture, with the footnotes as dry asides.

Then, just as he was learning to appreciate the amygdala, Shae sat down next to him. He turned off the datapad and looked up at her.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“We’re getting there,” she replied. “I think in a few weeks, we will be able to ask them to take us somewhere.”

Tamid sat up then, crossing his legs as he did. “So it’d be helpful, if you could tell them where you want them to go.”

“Exactly,” Shae replied. “Can we practice now?”

Tamid nodded. He thought they were also getting somewhere, now that they’d agreed on a symbol to represent the destination. He closed his eyes, and reached out with the Force, until he located the Korriban system. An old conquest that’d gone wrong, it was a gaping maw of pain and despair, and therefore easy to locate.

Then came the tricky part—and where the visualization came in handy. He imagined the designation as a black star with wings made of the void spreading around it like a bird about to take flight.

He opened his eyes to find Shae pointing at the exact location of the system on a star map Vev and Ters had made for them.

* * *

Vev looked at Tamid with a stern expression. It was a bit difficult, given that he was appearing in holo-form before her—so a tiny blue Tamid, which was rather adorable—but she managed.

“You’re not going anywhere without me,” she said firmly. “Last time you did, you crashed on unknown planet full of monsters.”

“And made friends,” Tamid countered with a grin. “You also appear to like it here, so you probably should trust in my luck.”

Vev sniffed disdainfully at that. “There is no such thing as luck. And if there was, you were a Force Hound for most of your life, so I wouldn’t trust yours anyway.”

“Hey, it’s not that I don’t want you around,” Tamid said after a moment, “but the ship is small. Really small.”

Vev sighed. “I don’t like that.”

“Look, we won’t be going anywhere far,” Tamid replied, “or dangerous. We just need to test if we can do it. And if we can, it will probably take a while before anyone is sent anywhere.” He looked down at his hands for a moment, before continuing, “I- I was going to ask if I could go, though. I could maybe sneak into the Corellian system—but if I do ask, I’ll ask that you come with me.”

It didn’t really come as a surprise to Vev. And in all likelihood, someone else—either Shae Koda or Daegen Lok—would warn him of the possible disappointments looming ahead of him. She didn’t have to—nor did she want to.

“Of course I’ll come with you,” she said. Then, something occurred to her. “It will be a fairly important mission, right? I’ll ask Ters if he wants to come. He’s a Master, so that ought to be all the authority anyone would want with us.”

Tamid smiled. “Yeah, you do that,” he said sounding a bit too indulgent. “And he can get us a bigger ship.”


End file.
